


His Queen's Needs

by vivilove



Series: Beddings at Winterfell [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Love, Marriage, Pregnancy, impending parenthood, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 01:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9101113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: Three months after the events in "A Bedding At Winterfell" finds Jon dealing with Sansa's pregnancy and facing his fears over becoming a father while coping with the pressures of being King in the North.I originally planned to write a sequel to Part 1 but decided to do these as one-shots related to it.  They should be able to stand on their own but I wrote them with the Jon & Sansa of that story in mind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> These are centered around Jon & Sansa's relationship and are not really focusing on any anticipated action from the series or other characters.

Three moons had passed since their wedding and Sansa was nearly five moons gone with child. The early fatigue and tetchiness had faded away with her queasy stomach some time ago. Her flat belly had begun to swell and her breasts had enlarged. Her already lovely pale complexion, so well suited to the North and her fiery red hair, had taken on a most becoming rosy glow now. The night before she had grasped his hand quite suddenly when they were settling down to sleep and pressed it firmly to her tummy.

“Did you feel it? Did you feel our babe?” she had asked excitedly.

“Aye,” he answered as his heart gave the strangest little twist and the known world fell away to present him with some new and altered state of things. His eyes grew moist and he found himself quite unprepared to face the emotions that the little flutter against his hand had brought. “Was that it again?” he had asked a minute later with his hand still pressed against her.

“Yes,” she had sighed happily and nestled herself closer to him.

She was soon sleeping soundly but Jon could find no rest that night. He held Sansa close and tried to make sense of why this should be so alarming to him. He had known she was with child since their wedding night. When Sansa had shared the news with him as they danced, he had felt some nervousness but mostly pride and joy. He had kissed her heartily in front of their guests and Lord Cerwyn had suggested that it must be time for the bedding ceremony. Jon had already determined well before then that there would not be any bedding ceremony…at least not one that anyone else would be attending besides himself and Sansa. He had told their guests to continue enjoying the feast and then picked up his bride and carried her from the hall without a backwards glance at any of them.

Since then, he had seen the physical changes and knew the toll it had taken on her at times better than anyone at Winterfell, baring Sansa herself, but now this little flutter had knocked…no, kicked down the door of his previous acceptance of things and he was at a loss. How could he ever hope to protect them from what was coming? And how could he ever live with himself if he failed? His own mother had died in childbed. What if he lost Sansa? He tried to find some comfort in the fact that her mother had safely born five children but it was no guarantee that Catelyn Stark’s daughter would as well. Making her happy, meeting her needs had become the most important thing in his life but the little flutter and the uncertainties it presented were making him doubt his abilities to do so.

 

He rose before her the next morning as he had not truly slept and dressed in silence. The winter days were short and bitterly cold but they would grow shorter and colder still in the years to come before spring found them again. He made his way towards the godswood to pray for Sansa and their babe. He spent more time there than he had intended and, when Davos found him, Jon was still kneeling before the heat tree. He rose to his feet as his Hand approached.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Davos said with a smile. “I don’t wish to disturb you at your prayers.”

“Good morning, Davos. You are not disturbing me. What awaits us this morning?”

“A raven from Dragonstone. Daenerys Targaryen has asked you to come and meet with her.”

It was not unexpected nor was it the first they had heard from this Dragon Queen…his aunt. Jon wondered if she knew the truth of his parentage or if she believed it.

“I don’t know, Davos. It will take over two moons to travel there, meet with her and then return. And first we’ll have to respond and arrange to go. And Sansa…”

“You should go all the same, Your Grace. She wants the Iron Throne, it is true, but if she is asking to meet then she may be willing to make an alliance with you.” Jon started to speak, to express his true motive for not wishing to go, but Davos knew him well by now. “Your queen will give birth whether you are here or not, Your Grace. I know that is not what you want to hear but she will likely advise you to go the same as I am doing. Better to go and treat with your aunt now than delay. Who knows how long the weather will hold for you to travel or how long the true enemy will stay north of the Wall? Three dragons she has and there’s the dragonglass on Dragonstone to consider as well.”

“Aye, you are right. It does not make this any easier,” he said thinking of the flutter he had felt last night with his hand on his wife’s stomach… _our babe_.

“I was at sea every time my wife gave birth. I always felt a good bit of guilt about it but it’s what a sailor’s wife expects…I s’pose that’s true for the wives of kings as well.”

 

The duties that awaited him as king kept him from her side. She usually attended his meetings as well but not always. She knew he would come and share his concerns and discuss anything of importance with her anyway. She preferred to keep to their chambers by the fire lately with Ghost nearly always by her side and Jon did not see her until later in the afternoon. She was sitting in her solar with two of the young ladies that had come to serve the Queen in the North sewing when he came in unannounced. Sansa smiled and rose to greet him as the women curtsied and quickly scurried from the room. He wrapped his arms around her once they were alone and pulled her close for a kiss.

“How are you today, my love?”

“Better now that you are here. Where did you go this morning and why did you not wake me?”

“I needed to think over some things. I fear I did not sleep well but I didn’t wish to disturb you.”

“Jon…I wish you would not try to shield me so much. I am your queen and, if your concerns are robbing you of sleep, I would share them with you.”

“Sansa…” he started to tell her of his worries over her and the babe but for some reason changed his mind and said, “there was a raven from Daenerys asking me to come and meet with her at Dragonstone.”

“I know,” she said, slumping against him and clearly unhappy. “Davos mentioned it earlier this morning when he was seeking you.” But, then she straightened her shoulders and gave him a piercing look with her Tully blue eyes. “You must go…though I loathe to be parted from you.”

“I don’t have to go. I could send Davos.”

“Davos is an able Hand but he is not King in the North and he is not a Northerner. You must go and speak for our people and convince your aunt of our needs and what is coming.”

Jon held her to him once more. He loved this woman so much. It still took his breath at times how fierce she could be. All the ways this world had tried to break her, all it had taken from her and yet she was still as strong and fierce as the creature on her house sigil...of the creature sitting at her feet. She was certainly a Tully with her sense of family, duty and honor, but even more so, she was truly a Stark through and through. She was loyal to her people and the North with a toughness and resiliency that was expected of a daughter of the North. These were traits Sansa had that so many failed to look past her physical beauty and see in her but that Jon saw plainly.

“If I go, I may not be here for the birth,” he said quietly as he held her.

“I know. Our duties are not always consistent with the wishes of our hearts though.”

She was being strong so he knew that he must be strong, too. He knew that she was nervous though. It was her first child and she would be a fool not to be frightened of what was to come. Sansa was no fool. And, as she clung to him, he realized that she feared for him to leave her side, feared for his safety.

 

As the comfort of being held close eased her concerns though, Sansa melded against him more closely and kissed his cheek and then his neck. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, her blue eyes finding his brown, asking if he wanted her with no words being spoken. He answered by claiming her mouth hungrily then and moving his hands down to her waist to pull her flush against his body so that she could feel his desire. It was another change that her pregnancy had brought, her already healthy carnal appetites for him had increased significantly.

She had been so innocently sweet and hesitant their first time making love when Jon had climbed to her window in his attempt to ‘steal’ his bride to be. He had only been thinking of the bedding ceremony that they both wanted to avoid at the time and hoping to show Sansa the way lovemaking should be. Her previous marriage to Ramsey Bolton had taken her innocence but given her no pleasure in the act. Bolton, a sadistic and cruel man, had taken the girl that had come to their marriage bed willingly, or at least willingly enough to go through with her part in the hopes of regaining her home, and deflowered his bride by raping her. He had then made her his prisoner and his plaything to torment and abuse. His death and the fall of his house had been something they both had wanted but it had not healed all their wounds or replaced all that had been lost. But, Sansa’s heart was made for love, not hate, and it had not taken long for her to find with Jon what she had never hoped to find after Ramsey. Her sexual desire had been awoken the night he had climbed to her window and had flourished soon after but now…Jon had never anticipated this new level of desire for him from her but he was exceedingly pleased by it all the same.

“Jon,” she moaned against his throat, “I’ve need of you, my love.”

She was tugging at his cloak which he quickly discarded, along with his leather jerkin and tunic. When he was bare from the waist up, he pulled her back to him again and began to unlace her dress. His fingers would fumble though when he was filled with longing for her and she soon stayed his hands and took over. He could not keep his hands off her and his mouth was on her mouth, her jaw and cheeks and then neck, peppering her with kisses and swiping his tongue across her velvety smooth skin, grazing her with his beard. When he tried to run his hands through her hair though, they caught in her loose braid and he tugged impatiently at it, wanting to feel her silky locks sliding through his fingers. Sansa reached back and pulled the tie out of her hair and, as soon he had what he wanted, she was pulling out the tie in his own hair and running her hands through his curly mop. Her dress was parted and he could feel the stiffened peaks of her nipples through her shift. He captured one of her swollen breasts in his left hand and lowered his mouth to suckle her through the shift as Sansa roughly shoved her dress then shift down to bare herself to him. He moved his right hand to her hip to hold her to him as his left hand continued to cup her and his tongue and teeth gently teased her nipples.

“Now, Jon…please…” she cried.

He helped her rid herself completely of her dress and shift until she was bare but for her small clothes and woolen stockings. Her hair was wild and loose about her shoulders and her lips were wet and darkened from their kisses. Jon lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed chamber. The fire had burned low at this time of day and it was chilly but he knew they would soon warm one another. He laid her on their bed and pulled off his boots and breeches. He pulled off her stockings and moved back to kiss her some more as they lay together with only their small clothes between them.

“Sansa, my beauty…I’ve need of you, too. How will I ever be parted from you to go south?”

“You managed last time, I recall,” she said teasingly as she moved her hands to grasp his hips then his thighs before squeezing his arse. “I know you’ll hurry back as soon as possible though.”

He had ridden South only once before and that was to take Littlefinger’s head at Moat Cailin after he had been captured trying to escape his crimes. He would’ve happily remained at Winterfell for the rest of his days once he finally returned and married Sansa…at least until the real war came for them all. Sansa drew him back to the present as she slid her hand to his hip before getting achingly close to his cock but not quite touching him there. He was breathing hard and let out a grumble of protest as her hand moved away again.

“Oh, my king is in _desperate_ need, I believe,” she laughed teasingly. “How shall I bring him relief?”

“Gods, sweet girl…however you like so long as you bring me some.”

Sansa laughed again and pushed him firmly down on his back before climbing atop him. She kissed her way down his chest pausing over the scars from his murder to kiss them gently as she always did. Once she had moved below his naval, she looked up with a wickedly, alluring smile and tugged at his small clothes. He helped her get them down and smothered a moan as she put her mouth on his cock. He laced his fingers through her hair and pulled slightly, trying to bring her back up to him.

“I think my queen is being too generous to her unworthy king. It’s your needs I’d rather see to now,” he said, as he sat up enough to help unlace her smallclothes.

Once those were out of the way, he grasped her hips to pull him up and over him. She smiled and straddled his hips and an instant later she was sliding down his shaft. He loved the needful moan she gave once he was fully inside of her and the whimpers and mewling sounds he heard escaping her lips with every thrust. He felt that strange twist to his heart once more as he looked at her slightly rounded stomach and full breasts and knew that this woman, his wife and queen, could certainly tear his heart in two with a word or look if she chose to do so. But, she wouldn’t. He knew now that she would never betray his love and trust, not once she had found it in herself to open her own heart to him and trust once more.

 

When they both were sated at last, he held her against him under the furs. Her skin was cool to the touch now and, as he warmed her in his arms, he whispered his fears to her. Intimacy, at least with Sansa, always opened that part of his soul where his fears and doubts lived, that corner of his heart that he kept locked up tight most of the time. He told her his uncertainties about becoming a father, something that he feared was never meant for him. He was overjoyed to have a child with her but he felt that somehow he was taking something that he wasn’t supposed to have. Sansa kissed his brow and reassured him that he was meant for this and would be a splendid father. He then spoke of his fears for her and the birth. He had almost lost her once before they were wed when Littlefinger had attempted to poison them both. He had thought he would die then if she did. Now, the thought of losing her in childbed, especially if he were not by her side, was even more unbearable as the entire matter was completely out of his hands. She was too honest to dismiss such fears out of hand. She knew as well as he that those fears were not unfounded. But, just sharing his fears seemed to loosen the trepidation some and help him breathe a little easier.

When he spoke of his concerns about the future, his desire to protect her and their child from all the threats this world would surely hurtle at them and the helplessness he felt when he considered the impossibility of being capable of doing so, she nestled down next to him, tracing a finger across the scars his brothers had left there.

“Nothing is impossible with you, Jon. You who have faced so many dangers, and fought so many times and kept fighting even when death seemed like the only outcome, you who have died and returned. I have faith in you, my king, my husband, my lover, my dearest friend. You see to all my needs with little regard to your own it seems to me. I have no doubt you will continue to do so for me and our child in the years to come, whether you are by our side or fighting to keep us safe.” He stroked her shoulder and swallowed hard to combat the lump forming in his throat before she spoke again. “But what of your needs, my love? You are so generous, Jon. You always have been. I was stupid not to realize it when we were younger but, since we were reunited, I have seen it almost daily. Surely, there is something more I can do for you. What do you need?”

“ _You_ are my only need, Sansa. If I have met your needs and you are happy, then I am content.”

 

A fortnight later, he and Davos left Winterfell with a small group of men to travel to White Harbor by horse and then sail to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys Targaryen. He left his pregnant wife in the care of the maester and her sworn shield, Brienne of Tarth. He left Ghost with her as well. His direwolf would not like sailing on ships or meeting with dragons, he thought. But, he also suspected that Ghost would not wish to leave Sansa’s side regardless. The morning they left, she had stood in the courtyard to see them off. She hid her tears now but they had flowed freely the night before as he held her and they made love. This morning, she let her embrace and her kiss say all the things that would be stuck in her throat now if she tried to voice them. He mounted his horse and led the party towards the gates but paused and turned back allowing the rest to ride ahead. She stood where he had left her. Her red hair a riot of color amidst the snowy yard and grey walls in the background and her cheeks aglow with her emotion. She was the solitary still figure in the yard, like a small weirwood; strong, straight, and untroubled by all the activity going on around her. She kept her eyes on his and raised her hand to wave one more time. He wished to commit the image of her there to his memory before he turned to catch up to his men praying that it would not be too long until he was by her side once more.


End file.
